I’d Like to Think Someone is Listening
Why else tell what it’s like in my house full of machines? I like being alone but my brain cannot sit still. Its doomsday shorthand leaves me teary in a gym full of jump-roping children, red and pink paper chains draped between basketball hoops. I try taking pictures of my daughter but she moves too fast. Her red glass heart bounces on her chest. I am looking for the door that opens on the shipwreck overtaken by hundreds of cormorants, all evil in their black bony clamor and stink. On my own deserted island, the sun shines weakly. Are you here, too?